


Fever-Hot Corpse

by rei_c



Series: Cannibalism Aside (Samn) [30]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester is Obsessed with Sam Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Fever, I Don't Even Know, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Sam Winchester is a Little Shit, Sick Character, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6787636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's got a fever and one request. When he's like this, how can Dean resist? (How can Dean ever resist Sam at all?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever-Hot Corpse

Five nights ago and two states over, Dean sliced a man to pieces and helped Sam gather up three pints of blood and the bones from the man's legs, arms, and chest. They'd enjoyed themselves; Dean took his time, they filled the cooler, and then he opened up Sam's ass with blood, fucked him under the dying eyes of their victim. 

Now, in an abandoned house in downtown Detroit, Sam's shivering on a mattress and his eyes are glassy, unfocused. Dean's worried, yeah, because this cold's hit Sam hard and fast -- and was probably Dean's fault to begin with, getting Sam naked, fucking him on a concrete floor, playing with him even before they got to the fucking and then letting Sam stay undressed for too long. 

Guilt, especially when it comes to his brother, is something that Dean has never handled very well. 

Dean runs one hand through Sam's hair, fingers catching on knots and undoing tangles as he goes. Sam blinks up at him, sweat dotting his forehead, and sniffs. 

_Gotta sleep_ , Dean says, gentle as he presses a kiss to Sam's forehead and then licks up the sweat from Sam's hairline and temples. _You'll feel better once you've slept._

_Can't_ , Sam says, and his voice is hoarse, rasping out of his throat with a wheeze. _Throat hurts. Ev'rything hurts_.

Possibly the flu, then. Dean tries to remember but -- Sam's never had the flu before. He's hardly ever gotten sick before at all. A good thing, Dean thinks; he'd have gone crazy long before this if Sam was prone to catching every little cold and bug that came around.

_What can I do_? Dean asks. _Soup's cooking but without electricity, it's gonna take a while to heat up, and I've piled all the blankets on you I can find. Sam, there's -- what will make it better, huh_?

Sam pins fever-dazed eyes on him and says, _Fuck me to sleep_. Dean opens his mouth to argue because that's exactly what Sam doesn't need right now, but Sam coughs, a wet, thick sound, and says, _Please, Dean. Need you. Need you in me._

Dean strokes a hand over Sam's neck, pressing lightly on the sides to feel Sam's lymph nodes. Definitely swollen. _Think you've got enough in you already, Sammy._

_S'not you, though_ , Sam says. _Please_? 

It's not easy to refuse Sam on a good day. Today, with the two of them holed up in this house, with Sam barely able to breathe and using it to his advantage, with Dean so desperately worried that he's willing to do just about anything, it's impossible. 

_Tell me if you want me to stop, okay_? Dean says, even as he's pulling the blankets off of Sam. 

The second Sam's clothes -- soaked through with sweat -- meet the air, Sam starts to shiver, his teeth almost audibly chattering. Dean's about to stop, about to cover Sam up again, but Sam lifts his hands, visibly using all of his concentration, determination, and energy, and starts to tug his pyjama bottoms down from his hips. 

Dean sighs, bats Sam's hands away. _If you're that determined, then fine,_ he says, _but save that energy for sex, okay? Let me do all the hard work._

_Hard_ , Sam says, chuckling a little before he descends into a series of coughs that end with him spitting out greenish-brown phlegm into the tissue waiting in Dean's hands. _Ha_. His voice is even rougher now, quieter, more of a struggle to find. 

_Idiot_ , Dean says, voice fond even as his hands are deftly undressing his brother. _How d'you wanna do this_? 

It takes Sam a moment to answer; Dean doesn't know if it took that long for Sam to work through all the options or if his brain is just moving that slowly. Neither option leaves Dean feeling any better about this -- even if his body disagrees. Shit, even when Sam's sick and running the type of fever that most people go to the hospital for, Dean's cock is still starting to harden, faced with the sight of his naked little brother. 

As sick as Sam is, Dean is, too -- just in a different way. 

_Stop thinking whatever you're thinking_ , Sam says, and scoots up a little on the pillows, spreading his legs. _I'm tired, Dean._

Dean leans down, nips a warning onto Sam's hipbone. His lips nearly burn at how hot Sam is, a tingling ache going deep like he's been scorched. _Jesus_ , he says, narrows his eyes as Sam -- it's not a flinch, not really, but there's a tinge to his eyes that speaks less of fever and more of something Dean's almost positive might be sulfur. _You're fucking hot, Sam. You sure we -- maybe we should get you to a hospital. Or an ice bath? I could run out and get some ice from that convenience store down the street._

Sam exhales, breath audibly catching on the phlegm stopping up his throat, and Dean watches, heart skipping beats, as Sam struggles to finish the following inhale. _Please_ , he says. _I'm --_

_Don't you dare say you're fine_ , Dean says, firm, bordering on harsh. _You're very obviously not, Sammy._

_I will be, though_ , Sam says. _I just -- it'll be better after I sleep, you're right. So please, Dean. Don't make me beg, big brother._

Dean nuzzles Sam's neck, sweat-soaked hair sliding over his face, the scent of Sam's illness just as much a turn-on as anything of Sam's, because it's _Sam_. _Fine_ , he says. _You just relax, okay_?

Sam grins up at him, heat-cracked lips and fever-afflicted eyes, and then closes his eyes, goes entirely limp after he says, _Relax. I can do that_.

For a split second, Dean's terrified that Sam's passed out, but Sam's still breathing and his left hand's making little twitching movements, trying to reach out for Dean in order to pull Dean closer. Dean swallows back a laugh of relief; Sam's such a little shit sometimes. 

_Make you beg next time, bitch_ , Dean murmurs, and then he starts to reposition them, props Sam up on the pillows so he's not laying flat on the mattress, kicks all their clothes and blankets to one side. He pushes Sam's legs up but when they slide the second he lets go of them, Dean just throws them over his shoulders and ducks his head down behind his brother's dick. 

Sam's so limp and loose-limbed, so malleable under Dean's hands, that Dean thinks this is what fucking a corpse must be like -- apart from the heat. Fuck, just getting Sam's ass open is making Dean sweat with the fever radiating out from his brother. So, okay, that's a pretty major difference, but Sam's pliant and offers no resistance or aid as Dean slowly gets Sam open, first with tongue and then with fingers. In fact, it looks like Sam's already halfway asleep by the time Dean's finally got three fingers moving in and out of Sam with little trouble. 

Dean crawls up the bed, Sam's legs still slung over his shoulders, Sam's body bent practically in half, and he pushes his way inside. Sam doesn't open his eyes, doesn't say anything, doesn't offer Dean any help or hindrance. In fact, the only way Dean can tell Sam's _not_ dead, apart from the heat clenching tight around his dick, is the wet little wheezing of Sam's breath. 

_God, Sammy_ , he chokes. Sam's tight like always but the temperature is un-fucking-believable. His dick's gonna fucking melt off before he gets close to coming. _So good, Sam, shit. Fuck, you're so good for me, ain't you, sweetheart, letting me fuck you like this._

_Always_ , Sam murmurs, mouth splitting open around a yawn that only makes Dean fuck into Sam harder, thinking of what it would be like to shove his fist in Sam's mouth, make Sam lick the taste of his own ass off Dean's fingers, feel the tight suction of Sam's cheeks and throat around his hand the same way it's around his dick. _Fuck me, Dean. S'what I need_ , Sam says, and his head lolls to the side. _Always what I need._

Dean strokes Sam's cheek, down his jaw and down to his neck, presses fingers over the rabbit-fast fluttering of his pulse. _That from the fever or the fuck_? he asks. _Look at you, Sam. Jesus christ, just fucking look at you_ , and Dean comes just like that, burying himself so far inside of Sam that it's a wonder Sam's not choking on it. Dean can see the barest hint of a curve on Sam's stomach and he rubs his fingers over that spot, over the bulge of his own dick, hips stuttering as Sam lets out a long, shuddering groan and comes. 

Pulling out is not something that Dean wants to do, not at all, but he does. He cleans Sam's hole and then lowers Sam's legs back to the mattress, wipes off Sam's stomach and covers Sam back up with all the blankets. 

_Sleep, baby boy_ , Dean says, brushing his lips over Sam's forehead. _I'll wake you up when the soup's ready._

Sam exhales around a sigh and curls into the blankets. 

He's already asleep.


End file.
